Christmas, or the Childhood Fight for Survival

My mp3 player is currently in the guise of an orchestra of over 150, and the incendiary device that is Wagner's Tannhäuser detonates in my ears. I've decided that it is now time for me to tackle this musical alligator, and I shall wrestle him with all the power of an Australian naturalist. The music is, of course, indescribably beautiful (fame's gotta be justified somehow), but he can be a mite lofty. This opera, for example, begins with Tannhäuser hanging out in the palace of Venus. The GODDESS OF BEAUTY, we're talking, the SUPREME EXEMPLIFICATRIX OF ALL THINGS VAGUELY AND OVERTLY SEXUAL. This is a sex-crazed babe, and she runs a palace full of other like-minded babes. But Tannhäuser leaves Mt. Olympus (and a better sex life than Ron Jeremy's) because he has a rotund German woman waiting for him back in the Vaterland who probably makes a to-die-for Apfelstrudel. I think this is where Wagner loses his modern audiences. Look, Rich (or Dick, which in this case may be more appropriate), no man, especially not this paragon of heterosexual copulatory majesty, is going to leave the palace of Venus, which can boast over 300 channels and an infinity pool, for medieval Bavaria simply because of the prospect of good home cooking. Get with the times, man. Sex sells.

That said, this entry is about Christmas.

After much to-do and anticipation, the famed Viennese Christkindlmärkte opened tonight in the Rathausplatz (City Hall Plaza). This incredible open-air market is what many consider the center of yuletide merrymaking in all of Europe. The product of Mary's hours of labor in a steamy, poop-filled manger full of filthy farm animals (including, depending on one's childhood home nativity scene: sheep, camels, oxen, buffalo, pigs, geese, bengal tigers, panthers, black bears, sperm whales, and a host of other creatures who don't belong together) is celebrated here with such an array of sweets, drinks, and trinkets as to make known to all the true meaning of this joyous holiday: sugar.

One is surprised that the ground isn't littered with hundreds of seizing children, their contorted bodies unable to cope with the kilos of pure Hawaiian cane which is slowly replacing the blood in their veins with sweet, sweet crystal... their tiny hands still clutching the remnants of Giant Frosted Cookie #724. No, these children amble around the market, ogling the wares with their parents, an 8-foot cotton candy obelisk in one hand and a stein of Kinderpunsch in the other. I don't know what it is: adolescent african elephants would be felled by consumption of such vast amounts of sugar, but Austrian children process it easier than Gerber© applesauce. Austria does consume more sugar per capita than any other nation, so perhaps there's an enzyme in the water or something.

The market really is heart-warmingly festive, though, and it is a welcome respite from the bombardment of forced Victorianism that in America endures from the day after Halloween until the last box of L'eggs© (Shimmer Toast variety) has been plucked from the shelves at the after-christmas sales.

The list of items up for sale at these markets is extensive, but there's a lot of repetition. A short survey:

Punsch, Glühwein, or any variation thereof: This is the first purchase upon reaching the markets. For €5, choose your mug and any of the hot, spicy drinks. Return your mug at the end of the night and receive €2 back. "What?" you ask, "they intentionally miss out on €2 from everyone?" Ah, but here's the game: these drinks are meant to keep you warm, and therefore have a higher alcohol content than the bottle of isopropyl you have in your medicine cabinet. You're passed out on the ground with the sugary children before you have a chance to return your mug. You awaken in the morning with a brand new souvenir. Congratulations.

Heissen Riesenkartoffeln: The pinnacle of the baked potato. These giant spuds come in about 80 different presentations, depending on the toppings one orders. Packs of Irishmen hang about and salivate. I had one with swiss cheese, garlic, and bolognese sauce. Delicious.

Christmas ornanments: much like in the United States and elsewhere, but extremely affordable and unpredictable. Some have little traps that spring open to blind the family cat. Some are more kitschy than your grandmother's living room, and some are stunning works of art whose low price would make any aesthete feel downright guilty. Most are your typical ball shape, but variations include: stars, trees, babies, baby bottles, and reindeer (much like the Native Americans, all parts of the reindeer are here used--head, whole body, antlers only, prancing legs, leering reindeer faces, both the distraught, "Why, why did you hunt me?" and the enraged, "You bastard hunter. Buy me! YEAH, BITCH, BUY ME! Put me on your damn tree, and I'll give your children heart attacks with my vicious gaze." Chilling.)

Sweets: Think you can't make a meal on empty calories? The vendors here dare you to try. Anything edible is covered in copious amounts of chocolate and decorated with little fruits (sugared, obviously). They've done things with chocolate here about which as I child I dared not even dream. If chocolate isn't your thing, they've also thought of ways to turn the most innocent foods into decadent treasures. Pretzels, cookies, cakes, sweet breads, sugared fruit, chocolate covered everything (sometimes with Bailey's), pies, strudels, candy/caramel apples, unfilled donuts, filled donuts (with chocolate, apricot jam, vanilla sauce, or just frosting), but no chocolate figurines. We don't deal with that lame shit here.

There are also of course hundreds of toys and other gift-y type places, but that would take far too long to describe. Just use your imaginations, and assign yourself no limits: if you want it to have karate chop action or the ability to translate the works of the Russian masters into Urdu, it will.

Since my arrival in Vienna, I've marveled at how well-behaved the children here are. It's more than that, actually--children and young people here exhibit an incredible maturity, and it shows in not only their behavior towards others, but how they carry themselves. These kids are universally wise. It's obvious they understand at 12 much more about the human condition than I ever will. Up till now, I figured that incredible parenting skills were the cause. Well, they are and they aren't--parents here have a fantastically strong tool with which to control/teach/horrify their progeny. I found this out tonight at the markets:

Each year on December 23rd, not 24th, St. Nicholas visits the homes of Austrian children dispersing gifts much the same way he does in the US. Also like the US, Santa has in his possession the List of those who have been "gut" and those who, unfortunately, have been "schlecht." [An interesting aside here. The List is drawn up every year on December 12... so children know exactly when their fates will be pronounced. Once December 13th arrives, the statute of limitations on allowable goodness has passed, and no more submissions can be made to the vastly complex bureaucracy of the North Pole. I imagine that on December 11th, crappy children are busy racking up goodness. The death rate of geriatrics crossing the street probably plummets on that day, and all those 10 and over hurry to sign up for the Peace Corps.] However, knowing what awaits the "schlechte" children, I can hardly blame them: if you have the incredible bad luck of being on the bad side of the List, you're not getting any coal. Shit, if they could get out with just a lump of coal, children here would walk on their knees through the vast desert to offer penance. No, the reward for naughty Austrian children is immediate and uncontestable consignment to Hell. Satan, dressed in black and with flaming red hair and arms arrives in the night with a sack of his own, filled with the morbidly frightened, squirming bodies and souls of the doomed Kinder, and each new acquisition is shoved violently in with the others. While the excited good children rush to their toys in the morning, the bad ones will just have been beginning their eternities of perpetual and unrelenting torment and woe, already long forgotten by their kin and left to weep bitter tears in the inferno.

The thought of Satan putting me in a sack and taking me away in the middle of the night would have been enough to keep me well-behaved, I think. I would have betrayed every member of my family to escape such a fate. Most American parents would love to have such a powerful tool as the above story.

Happy holidays to you all. If you feel at all that you might need to repent, do so before December 12th.


Still listening to Tannhäuser. It's Wagner, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to be here for a while. Although, with my chocolate coated pretzel and some candied fingernail that once belonged to Gerhard Fürnstern, 9, of Baden, Austria, I think I can pass the time quite nicely.

Mark Twain once said, "Wagner's music is better than it sounds." I'm starting to agree.